


Roulette

by FallenGabriella



Series: Infection [5]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Everything Jill Touches Explodes, F/M, Soulmates, the sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Fate, chance, or maybe it was luck...?Either way, Jill has the worst of all three.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jill Valentine
Series: Infection [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709857
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	Roulette

** September 28th, 8 : 10 P.M. **

Sometimes, she realized she was in a dream because of it.

Jill stared into the mirror, eyes slowly falling to her chest. Because it always looked different, with eyes or teeth too big. She raised her right hand, pausing before she lowered her fingers to stroke across the top edge, just below her collar bone.

And, as always, there was an answer. One that opposed her own, starting at the lowest portion, somewhere around her waist. Her breath hitched, blinking rapidly at her own reflection as a warm, calloused finger tugged at her pale flesh. She would guess it was his thumb by the width. She almost wanted to believe she could see the indention, the trail of his nail as it dug into the lowest arch.

She assumed it was a man.

The skin was risen on the outskirts, bulging like a scar, but it deepened along the inside. Her gaze rose to the twin orbs, shards of ice to her sky. Though, sometimes, she swore they were pale, almost greenish. Others, she thought they might be steel. Maybe it was just her imagination, or maybe that was the color of his eyes.

The fingers that came to her always felt bigger, rougher. Even as a little girl, growing up, trailing her hand across the glowing face of the beast on her chest. Some people chewed their lips, their nails, or rubbed their palms together. They would tap their feet, bounce their knees, or even clench their fists. Shifty gazes and hitches of breath, hiccups or twitches. Those were the telltale signs of nervousness… hers was to subtly drag her fingers across the mark over her heart. She reached instinctively, every time, whenever she was stressed or on the verge of tears.

To a wolf. One with keen eyes that peered out from within a rose, its fangs at the ready, and outermost fur transitioning into the bloom. Its pelt matched, a silvery sheen to the waves and waves of its scruff, with canines nearly lost in the petals that fell all the way down to her ribs. Sometimes, when she looked at them, she thought they might be its teeth… she expected them to twist, to puncture the smooth skin of her sternum and stomach. To rend her to pieces.

What sort of man conjured such imagery?

She shook her head, splashing water on her face, and grabbed her makeup. Maybe she’d never find out…

** September 28th, 11 : 29 P.M. **

_ It isn’t fate, it’s chance _ .

Jill jerked open the door, sweat dripping down her skin, her pulse aching in her neck, behind her ears. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply to compose herself.

Her father believed it was a “good omen”. He was ecstatic when she was born with a mark, had encouraged her to always be forthright with it. Especially given the location. As if her whole life should be spent searching for a man she could very well have just passed on the street. Her mother had only ever looked upon it impassively, with half-lidded eyes that glazed over with something she dared to call bitterness.

She had taught her to use concealer.

Jill just didn’t want anyone to come along, thinking she belonged to them. She hated her ‘fate’ being predetermined by some glowing _tattoo_ she’d been ‘lucky’ to have had at birth. If she had a boyfriend, took a lover, or got married, that was her own damn business. She wouldn’t let someone just walk into her life and uproot it like her father had.

She shoved open a black box – searching inside for leftover supplies. Twelve shotgun shells, and a handful of 9mm rounds.

_ At least U.B.C.S knows how to pack _ . Though she would have brought a little more heavy artillery just for safe measure. Although, most of them weren’t being chased by a super-zombie freak either. If she had to guess, she’d say he was a tyrant… But tyrants didn’t use machinery, they didn’t chase their target like a damn bloodhound. At least, she didn’t think they could. Had Wesker mentioned something about them being able to take orders?

_ Damnit _ … If only they hadn’t lost all the information left in the Mansion. If only she’d managed to recover even a few folders. Even if they weren’t enough to put Umbrella in the dirt with the rubble, at least they would have given her an idea of what she was up against.

She checked her pouches, fumbling for the ones she knew carried those potent, weird herbs Umbrella had made. Why couldn’t they share them with the world? Soldiers, policemen, front-line medical staff could be saved on battlefields, during natural disasters, or they could help patients if they’d market them. But no, they had to go around making viruses that decimated entire populations, rather than more super plants that could mend ligaments and tendons in seconds.

_ Bastards _ . Jill clicked her tongue, brow furrowing as she unzipped the newly acquired pouch. Only two. But at least she’d managed to grab some red ones to mix with them. That would keep her on her toes for a while.

She heard something in the room next door… Rattling.

“Is someone in here?” She walked to the door, pressing her hand against the cool metal when she saw chains. Thick, heavy ones. Her gaze darted around, searching for –

She pried the pliers off the wall, clipping the links before securing them to her belt. One never knew when simple tools could come in handy, especially during situations like this one. Worst came to worst, if she ran out of bullets, she could use it as a club.

She opened the door slowly at first, throwing it out of the way when she saw a man propped up against a green car.

“You’re U.B.C.S?” The uniform was a dead giveaway. He looked young, younger than Carlos or herself even. Sweat beaded on his skin, thickened with the blood accumulating on abrasions that littered his face and hands. His Kevlar was already stained too, almost the same shade as his cap.

“Yeah. C-Careful, careful.” Jill kept her eyes on the task at hand, staring at the lacerations rather than his moist eyes. Something about him reminded her of Joseph…

_ Not a good time to be digging up old memories _ . He kept grimacing, his breaths fast and shallow.

“C’mon don’t look at me like that, alright? I’m not an infected!” How many times had she repeated those same words to herself? Staring into a mirror at the wee hours of the morn, or the dead of the night?

_ I’m not infected _ . She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. _I would have been showing symptoms by now_. Which meant he was right. Most likely. _We won’t know until I get him out of here._

“Ok, let’s take care –“

“No, no, no wait!” She was still looking at him. His eyes were brown and wide, growing bigger. His hand rose – where had all that blood come from? “Please!”

_ Bang _ !

The flash was there, gone in an instant. And so was the kid. Because that was all he was. Some punk, probably only a few years younger than her, with no idea what he’d stepped into… Maybe it was the shock of his loss, or the idea someone would shoot with her so close. Who would kill an unarmed boy, with someone else right next to him?

Her reflexes made her lurch back, arms raised to defend herself with a sharp cry. His blood splattered across her forehead, droplets sinking into her gloves, flickering across her shirt. She stared in surprise at the bullet, steaming, lodged into the center of his brow. His eyes were still blown, pupils dilated. Crimson oozed out in a jagged pool beneath him, around him. Her eyes widened, legs surging as her fear and horror melted into rage –

“What the fuck?!”

The hair on her nape rose. Her fingers tingled. Something flowed from her toes, up her spine, prickling at the back of her head. She almost shivered, yet there was no cold, only the oddly…pleasant sensation that simmered on the edges of her nerves.

Silver. His hair was silvery white, and he was kneeling with his elbows resting on his knees. His head was tilted, brows the same shade risen in what she’d almost think was curiosity. His pale eyes rested on the kid’s face, not the slightest hint of remorse on his own. His lips twitched, thin and cracked.

“He was infected.” His voice made the bizarre feeling skyrocket. She swore she could feel the warmth seeping into her cheeks, shortening her breath. Something vaguely resembling disappointment flickered across his features before he rose, finally looking at her. Jill shoved aside whatever it was that had decided to make itself at home in her veins, crushing it beneath disbelief.

“He _might_ have been infected.” How much did U.B.C.S know? How much did Umbrella actually tell them? She tried to make him understand, with that statement alone.

_ Not everyone who’s bitten ends up being a zombie _ . She was living proof of that. Her, Chris, Barry, and even Brad… Though the same probably couldn’t be said anymore. But she couldn’t think about that now. About him, about all she’d left behind, and all she still gained to lose from this. For now, she had to focus on the one –

The one with sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders, and… pale green eyes. Ones that were half narrowed on her with disinterest, showing no empathy in their ashen depths. He scoffed, turning away from her.

“Are all S.T.A.R.S this soft? No wonder so many of you are dead.” Jill’s eyes widened further; lips parted as her mind stalled. His accent made it sound as if he’d dropped the ‘are’ altogether. Jill trailed after him, fury crushing whatever involuntary emotion her brain had made upon the sight of him.

“And what are you? U.B.C.S? Killing your own people?” Jill gestured back, to the young man, barely more than a damn boy. She would guess he was probably somewhere in his thirties, a whole decade ahead of her. Even less excuse – hell, no one had an excuse for putting a bullet in a kid’s head.

_ He wouldn’t have turned _ . _I didn’t_.

That made him stop, his gaze still honed ahead of him. She heard him exhale, sharp and annoyed, as if she were the one being unreasonable. He turned back around, stepping off the stairs to round on her. Jill kept her chin level; despite the snarl she had seen beginning to overtake his face. His teeth grit, suddenly, the lines in his cheeks and brow growing thicker as he spoke.

“He would have turned.” He was huge, towering over her with ease. She was five-foot-five… What was he? Nearly a foot taller than her?

“Where is your sense of self-preservation?” His head tilted, regarding her with an intensity she refused to flinch under. Yet the question pierced deep, right into the dark, cold part of her heart trapped beneath a mansion. It eclipsed her like he did, but she refused to shudder beneath its sway.

Another scoff, another quick turn of his heel. Jill’s eyes followed him, brow furrowing as her mouth set into a line. The stairs thudded and creaked beneath his weight.

“Go back to the subway station.” He still had his gun out. She wondered how many of the rest of his men had been ‘infected’. Was there a whole line of corpses outside? Still steaming, still wreathed in puddles that grew thicker and larger by the second?

“We don’t need a bleeding heart like you getting in the way.” She finally realized where she’d heard that accent… born in a place as frigid as hell, and just as barren. Jill clenched her jaw, standing there, feeling useless and hollow…

_ Or maybe it’s just luck _ .

** September 29th, 1 : 45 A.M. **

The train rolled down the track, the screech dulled by the sheets of metal and glass that separated her from the channel. She could hear the carts clicking, rhythmically swaying as they fled the dying city. She tried to listen to the lights, to focus on their hum, or perhaps the soft patter of steel grinding. Everything was yellowed, whitened, intangible beneath the ever-changing glow within and outside. She tried to count the ones that passed outside. She lost interest by forty-seven.

Most of all, she tried to feel something. Anything. But there was nothing. Only the yawning, unpleasant feeling of regret and apprehension.

Twigs cracked beneath her feet. Too loud – wings lashed against the branches above her head, feathers thunderous in the twilight. She whimpered at the setting sun, begging it not to abandon her. The trees leaned in all around her, forming a halo in the canopy above, taunting her as the azure sky faded into black. The stars looked so far away, dangling helplessly, waiting to be devoured by the gnarled fingers of oak and pine.

She ran. Faster and faster, till her feet throbbed, and her ears had turned to drums. Breathing hurt. She couldn’t feel her ribs or her toes. The forest sucked the air from her heaving lungs, every inhale and pulse punctured by a soundlessness too still to be real. A fog rolled in, rising up from beneath the dead leaves that wrinkled and broke beneath her, their last breaths choking her.

Her nape tingled. Jill’s gasp lodged itself in her throat, turning into a soft whimper. There was something behind her…

Jill hadn’t even realized she’d pressed her palm to the mark. Her chest hitched, rising, mashing the flesh of her hand into her breast. The mist of the forest lingered upon her lashes, flicked away with the fingers of her opposite hand.

_ Why now _ ? She’d never had a problem with bad memories… At least, not usually. Arklay seemed to have revived all of the skeletons in her closet, reshaping them with flesh and blood. Although, it had never been monsters that frightened her. Well, not the normal kind. Not the ones most kids wrestled with.

She heard a disgruntled sigh behind her, the shift of boots across the floor. The answer to her touch came, as it always had. She tried to focus on the fingers, the rough ones casually petting at her ribs, and not –

“Something the matter, Nicholai?” Mikhail groused; his voice course with fatigue and lingering pain.

“She’s being needy again.” The other Russian sighed, his tone lame with disinterest. Annoyance. “She has been for a while now.”

“She could be troubled.” Jill didn’t have to turn to hear the frown in his voice. “Who knows what’s happening to her.” Nicholai scoffed. She could imagine how his features drew in that instant, the way his cheeks would pull, and his lips would twitch.

“Would be better if it faded.” Jill’s teeth clenched, shoulders drawing as anger and indignation threatened to rip themselves from her tongue.

_ Faded _ … _**Faded**_. Fading meant the mark would stop glowing. All the color and light would slowly leech from it, leaving nothing more than a lifeless grey behind. Some people said it swirled, like ash and smoke beneath the surface, that it would still feel warm occasionally. Others reported phantom feelings, the fingers they had never known still touching them, tracing the same patterns. But it all meant the same thing –

“It is a gift, Nicholai.” Mikhail’s voice had grown soft. Jill bit her bottom lip, noting the sorrow that laced the older man’s voice. She doubted Nicholai did… or cared.

“A useless one. More trouble than it is worth.” She heard him shift, felt the hand on her ribs press just a fraction harder. Something itched at the back of her head. She ignored it. He was sneering, she knew he was. She could hear it in his voice.

“She’s so desperate for attention like this, I can’t imagine how annoying she would be if I met her.” Again, a rustle of cloth, and the fingers on her ribs rose to stroke lightly beneath her breast, at a petal he most of the time ignored. “Still, I suppose I could make her desperate in other ways…” She felt something sharp press into the edge, following the curve of the petal, right till it grazed the underside of her breast.

Jill’s breath hitched. She concealed her heaving, frantic inhale by holding her breath. Her eyes prickled and burned as the nail turned into the pad of a finger.

_ No _ .

“Nicholai!” She’d never heard Mikhail sound angry, genuinely furious. “Marks are not playthings.”

Her tongue felt hot, swelling inside her dry mouth. Her vision swam, speckling with circles of amber and red and blue, reminiscent of the neon lights fading behind a rain-drenched taxi window. She opened her mouth, a scream rising forth. She cut it open on her canines, clenching her teeth so tight her jaw started to hurt in the same instant. The emptiness stretched from her stomach, which had dropped out of her. If she turned, would it spill out onto the floor? Would it take her breaking heart with it, and her useless lungs?

Jill wanted to run. She wanted to get up, to jump off the train, to disappear into the blinking lights of the tunnel. Her hand came away from her chest, deserting her glowing, aching mark. Her fingers shook too hard, twitching and trembling all the way up her arm. She pushed her palms together, pressing them between her thighs, trying to hide her anguish as best she could.

At least he’d stopped touching it…

She didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. She didn’t want to hear much of anything. Maybe it was best that she couldn’t feel anything. That as soon as the train stopped, she could slip away, and never see him again. Just as long as he never actually touched her skin… Jill inhaled through her mouth, slow and silent, regulating her breathing to keep herself from sniffling through her nose. The loss of her emotions gave her leave to be logical –

Till she saw Nemesis, standing in the burning wreckage of the last cart, surrounded by the charred corpses of the people she was responsible for. Suspension or not, they were the people of Raccoon City and –

_ Where’s your sense of self-preservation _ ? His words echoed behind her, even as she ran past him, unafraid and towards the maw of fire. Maybe blind fury and apathy was a suicidal combination, maybe the loss of lives was just too much to bear, or maybe… Maybe she didn’t believe she should still be alive. Either way, she wasn’t going to be a coward. She would take this fucker down once and for all, with everything she had in her.

Mikhail held her back. He brought her back from the abyss, while her own damn Soulmate had turned tail and run. Jill clenched her teeth, doubling back, running towards the man she swore she would never bind herself to.

How could he be so satisfied? So sickeningly, sadistically – How could he laugh?

_ Does he feel anything _ ? Jill grappled with the door, giving several futile tugs against a lock she didn’t have time to pick. _Was I wrong_? But she could feel it, the scorching skin of her mark threatening to burn off her concealer, glowing against the glass. Not bright enough, still hidden beneath blood and dirt.

_ Then why  _ – _Why is it only me_? She yelled after him, trying to keep her voice from breaking. _Is this what fate intended_? _For me to be murdered by the other half of my fucking soul_? Trapped on a train spiraling out of control, with a monster, wreathed in flames coming at her…

Jill turned, searching desperately for something, anything. It couldn’t be over. Not like this. Not when she only had a few bullets to spare for any of her weapons. Too little, and always too late, she scrambled after Mikhail. Gone, whisked away from her fingertips. She could – she could still –

The train lurched, heat and shrapnel blasting through her cart, even as her body slammed into the walls. The darkness was soothing and cool, slipping into the edges of her vision, and she surrendered to its mercy.

** October 1st, 12 : 52 A.M. **

Her breath caught on her teeth. They clenched, strangling the sound. She leaped down, trying her best to compose herself in the few seconds it took her to rise. He was staring down at her, she knew he was. The deep cerulean hue behind him curled over his Kevlar, shined off his boots, the darkness shrouding his face. She could just make out the sharp edges of his cheekbones and temples, but it was his hair – softer in the glow. It looked like snow.

Why did she think it would be easy?

“I must admit, I respect your tenacity.” Jill rolled her eyes so hard she swore she saw stars. “But I’m afraid our games end here.” He needed to pick up better one-liners. Especially if he was going to sound like the cheesy villain out of a Sunday afternoon horror flick while delivering it.

“You think this is over?” Jill’s voice dripped venom past her lips, slithering down to the dips of her collar. The mark stung. The burn from before had gone from uncomfortable to almost intolerable. Her breaths had shortened as a result, hot and awful from her aching lungs. But rage was as good a motivator as anything.

The concealer had worn off throughout the days, blood and grime clumping around the risen skin. It peeled off in small, rough sheets that made her skin itch. Jill ignored it, jerking a lever to escape the pale-skinned zombie that meandered mindlessly after her.

She didn’t know how many more mutated versions she could handle… Nemesis was bad enough, then the things at the power station, the ‘Hunters’ (both varieties), and now these fuckers? Did it ever end? The mansion was a cakewalk compared to an entire city, with various different creatures crawling out of people’s genetics. She wondered how many Carlos had seen… If they could add a few more to the growing list of disgusting undead.

_ I should have listened to my mother _ …

Not that she would ever tell her that. Not that she thought it would have even worked.

Jill wanted to believe it was a difference in cultures… the French were proud, boastful in the display of their marks. The larger they were, the more flamboyant, the better. Ones with bright curves and fanciful patterns garnered admiration and respect. Even the location – if it could easily be pressed to its opposite, was worthy of praise. As if that was what made them worth having. As if the person who shared that mark, albeit mirrored, were somehow made more desirable for the emblem of their soul, than for what made it so beautiful.

Jill had never considered hers was. It was ferocious, cruel in appearance. She had sometimes looked upon the rose, imagining the petals were red instead of their lovely, soft ivory, and found that they looked like blood. It turned her torso into a gore-splattered mess, as if she had been ripped apart. She was beginning to see why.

She raised her gun, placing three well-aimed shots into the head of a fast-moving zombie. He crumpled to the floor, gurgling his last. Sometimes, she swore there was a light in their eyes… Or maybe it was just the chemicals in their irises, flashing in the gloom like a cat’s. She pressed on, hissing when she found herself at the end of a narrow stack of shelves.

“A dead end?” She’d have to climb then. Either that, or she could shove boxes out of the way, and make her way along the ground.

_ Probably not a good idea _ , _considering what could be inside_ … She glared at the shelves before her, gaze shifting to the side –

“No, wait.” A narrow gap in the walls of storage, with yellow and black striped tape cordoning it off. She turned; hands drawn up to slip through.

The Japanese, on the other hand, were private. They thought such things should remain personal, that they shouldn’t take up so much time. Besides, it made it easier if one’s other half were… undesirable. She had heard stories, while visiting with her mother, of young individuals from wealthy families getting theirs removed or covered, upon discovering their intended was someone their parents would never approve of.

_ But it never worked _ …

All those same stories ended with the mark inevitably reappearing, carving its way back into the surface of their skin, itchy and blistering. Makeup was the only way, even though it wasn’t permanent.

_ I should have done it _ . _Even if it didn’t last_.

Her mother had argued with her father for weeks, wanting to send Jill to the doctor when she was fourteen. There had been new tests, new skin grafts that lasted longer. They had shouted so much, she had lost a lot of the conversation, but she had been worried about her future, about how it might affect her moving forward… Jill wouldn’t have gone through with it. She would have run away even earlier than she had, if they had tried to force her.

_ But that was before I knew my Soulmate was a greedy, malicious, egotistical, psychotic son of a bitch _ . And now she did. Now she wanted nothing more than to rip her fingers into her chest, to cleave away the meat down to the bone, and throw it in his fucking smirking face. Yet she knew it would do no good, even if she could. He had unraveled her, and she had put herself back together, discovering too late the pieces of himself he had left behind. He was inside, all around her, seeping into her thoughts and blood and marrow –

_ No _ , _not yet_. She was still safe. Just as long as she never touched him.

She almost hated her father as much as she’d loved him back then for refusing to allow it. He wouldn’t let her mother even attempt to take her decision away from her, even if it was more about his pride than her wishes.

_ I was so stupid _ . Of course, that was what most people probably thought. In hindsight.

** October 1st, 3 : 48 A.M. **

“Ooh. What do we have here?” Jill’s heart lurched into her throat. Terrible, worse than before, especially when she was dangling over a pit with a monster. Her teeth ground together, arms trembling as her ribs clenched inwards. He knelt down, retrieving the fallen canister, smirking at his prize.

“Nicholai, don’t!” Her head was killing her. Jill swallowed, willing more saliva into her tacky mouth. “The city needs that vaccine!” His eyes narrowed, the silver at his fingertips dangling precariously, as if it were a toy for him.

“More than I do? Hmmm.” He looked between it and her, the cat playing with the mouse before he decided whether or not he would eat it. Nicholai opened his mouth, rising just enough to plant his boot firmly over her fingers. Jill cried out, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t think the wisdom I’ve been trying to impart on you is getting through.” He knelt, closer than he ever had been before, crouching over her as she clung to the edge.

“Now I know you can’t put a price on life.” That seemed to be the last lesson he ever learned. With how many times he had abandoned her to Nemesis, reveling in her close calls with death, all for a few more dollar signs to his paycheck. Jill whimpered, clawing with her opposite hand towards –

“But I’m in this business to get paid.” Once again, he was annoyed, his hand torturously close. The vaccine was just within reach, between his fingers.

“So, let’s make a deal!” He raised his arms, as if he were being magnanimous. “You go down there, battle the Nemesis. And I’ll record it all and sell the combat data.” Nicholai explained it as if she were a child, and he the ecstatic teacher, moving his arms for emphasis. He paused, glaring at the vaccine for a split second. “Put on a good show and maybe I don’t need the vaccine.” He gestured to it, still so completely uninterested… He was going to send her to die _again_. She was going to be a guinea pig for Umbrella _again_. She was going to be beaten down, abused and tormented for his gain, for his own personal enjoyment.

“Agreed?” Jill didn’t aim for the canister. “Good.” Too far away anyway... But even so, it was secondary. Meaningless and useless all at once, because if she was going to die –

She could have sworn she was falling already. That Nicholai had pulled away, and her body had hit the cement below, rolling inevitably to what could very well be her end. Except she wasn’t.

The feeling erupted… from her aching heart, her sore fingertips, and her numb toes. Every throbbing injury she sustained became secondary, thrumming into nonexistence. Vertigo and ecstasy collided, blistering and cooling across every nerve, every tendon strained taut. She could feel his pulse through her hand, arching and twisting like lightning, straight to her own, right below the mark that she swore she could see the shine of… Like a star going supernova.

Jill’s cheeks stung. Tears pattered against her collar, but it wasn’t the burning trails, winding through the dirt on her face… She was smiling. Nicholai wasn’t.

He looked as if the air had been kicked out of him, pale irises blown wide. She could see the veins in his neck standing out, throbbing, wild and erratic. His face had fallen, slack with shock and… His head snapped to her, suddenly, the relaxed tilt gone as he stared at her in confusion and horror. Her grip on his wrist started to give, whitened knuckles too slick with sweat to hold on. 

Jill’s brow lowered, sky blues narrowing as her lips twitched. She sneered.

“ _ **Fine**_ , _but I’m taking you with me_.”

She let go.

“NYET!” His roar thundered all around her, echoing across the pit, sending a surge of adrenaline through her veins. She dared to believe she heard fear – desperation – at its edges. She could have sworn she felt his nails too, dragging across her arm, trying to tear her back from the abyss.

Jill refused to cry out as she hit the floor, she didn’t even think she could. She was still riding the glorious high of a bond completed and the _power_ – she didn’t know if it was being the one in control, despite dangling above her doom, or maybe it was being the one to win. She liked to think it was a bit of both… And making him forget English was just a bonus.

She tasted steel on her teeth, still exposed by her stretched lips.

_ Are people usually so giddy _ , _right before they die_? Probably not. But she’d always been open to trying new things…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: “Infection is a series of one-shots.”
> 
> Me: _Two days later_. “Infection is a series of (mostly) unrelated nonsense featuring Valenvaef.”  
> At least one of those is true.
> 
> Probably going to go ahead and add _Blue Rose_ into this series as well.
> 
> I think I mentioned this once (either in a comment section, or the notes of another Valenvaef piece), but – I always write my ships as if they’re Soulmates. Now, for me, a “Soulmate” relates to the Grecian term… quite literally, the other half of your soul. The one connected to you via a red string in some middle eastern cultures as well.
> 
> I firmly believe your “Soulmate” and the “Love of your Life” can be two different people as well. “Soulmate” is the other half of your soul, someone you’re doomed to meet (for better or worse), and you could even possibly pass them on the street without even knowing. But this person is the one that completes you, the one you will always and forever love more than anyone else. This is a love that _transcends_ lifetimes. It is an eternal, consuming love.
> 
> The “Love of your Life” is, well, just that. A love trapped to one lifetime. It will not follow you to the next. It is someone you are safe to have and hold, yet your “Soulmate” will always eclipse them.
> 
> There’s some stuff with Jill’s parents that will be more in-depth next chapter… But a lot of what she feels in this one is a love/hate-type deal. She didn’t want her life being taken away from her by someone who just randomly appears, and yet, her Soulmate has been a comfort throughout the years. He’s always answered her call, but hearing and seeing and knowing are two different things. Especially when she figures out its Nicholai, and when she hears why he always answers her…
> 
> So, of course, she wants to fuck him up. But, because this is Jill, we see her put that aside for most of RE:3. She doesn’t want him to know. He can’t know. Not until the ultimate moment when he’s going to fuck them over…


End file.
